


Sherlock Holmes: babysitter

by NopeUnintended



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Babysitting, Childcare, Cigarettes, Funny, Humor, Humour, John is a Brat, Kid!John, Kid!Lock, Kidlock, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, Smoking, Teenlock, but a lovable little brat, but he has his way, consulting babysitter, john as a child, sherlock's no Mary Poppins, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 19:20:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1719695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NopeUnintended/pseuds/NopeUnintended
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is forced to babysit. How dull.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock Holmes: babysitter

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock is 18 and John is around 6 or 7

 

Sherlock threw the nursery door – _deceptively_ light - open with a little too much force, causing the kid to look up from his game, alarmed. The boy was hiding behind a tower of bright orange blocks.  Sherlock realized they were plastic cups. _Mildly innovative._

“What do you like?” The boy called out from behind his construction site.

“How do you mean?” Sherlock circled around behind the structure – he should at least know what the child looked like.  The last time he had lost his charge it had taken an inordinate amount of time to find the damn kid. Luckily, using his memory of the mother’s snubbed little nose, he was able to identify the child before his employer came back.  It took him less than an hour to find the right playground and drag the kid back to its house.  Still, time was precious and he had no intention of a repeated incident.

Wide blue eyes blinked up at him beneath a mop of scruffy blonde hair.

“I like pirates and aliens and ants,” the boy stated proudly.

 _Who doesn’t?_ Sherlock thought, despite himself. He refused to engage in an actual conversation with a silly little _child_.  Instead, he kept his features cool, replying with a noncommittal “Hmmph.”

“I’m John!’

“I know,” Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned to settle into the stupid plastic stool in the corner of the nursery.  After a moment, he dragged his chair to the nursery window, which he propped open. He then pulled out a much-needed cigarette and his skull lighter.  He breathed in his first breath of smoke, eyes closed in total indulgence. _Finally._

John watched his movements wearily from his ever-rising fort.

”What?” Sherlock spat at the boy. It was less of a question and more of a verbal glare.

“Smokin’s bad for yah, y’know.”

Sherlock actually glared now. “What would you know? Oh, and tell anyone about this and I’ll let your mom know you stole her lipstick to give to the girl next door.”

Sherlock waited for the shocked silence to pass. It didn’t, so he continued: “You’ve a smudge of lipstick on the edge of your trouser waistband – obviously you were trying to stash the tube in your pocket quickly, so a stolen item. The only female in your household whom you come into regular contact with who also wears lipstick is your mother, so mother it is. Now, there’s mud caked onto your shoes. It hasn’t rained in days, but the house next door has been watering their garden religiously – it’s bright green and clearly well-kept – most likely they’ve a sprinkler set on a timer.

You haven’t been to the schoolyard in at least two days since it’s a Sunday, so your neighbor’s yard is the most likely area you acquired the mud on your shoes. So, you were mucking about the house next door with a lipstick tube in your pocket. Conclusion: you fancy the girl next door and are using your mother’s makeup as a flimsy excuse of a gift in your attempt to woo her.” 

Sherlock glanced at the young boy as he took a deep puff of his cigarette. The boy’s eyes had grown impossibly wider during his rapid-fire monologue. Impatiently, Sherlock tapped the ash out the window.

“Shouldn’t you be running to your room to throw a tantrum or screeching or something?”

“That was amazin’!” The boy was beaming at him as he jumped out of his fort.

Sherlock startled at the exclamation, peering down at the boy with slightly more interest.

“It was?”

“A ‘course it was! You’re like a superhero!”

“There’s no such thing as superheroes, John,” Sherlock replied, hiding his pleased smirk with another lungful of smoke "And if they did, I wouldn't be one of them".  

“I promise not to tell on you for smokin'.” John’s smile turned slightly devious.

“Oh?”

“Nuh-uh.”

Quick as a flash, the child snatched the package of cigarettes from Sherlock’s hand and scrambled out of the room, down the hall.

“What the _hell_?!” Sherlock leapt from his perch and sprinted after the child. He saw a door to his left slam shut and heard the subsequent clunk of a heavy lock.

“John!” He pounded on the door. _The bathroom door_ , his memory helpfully supplied. “Give those back!”

“Or what?!”

Sherlock huffed. The kid had a point – he couldn’t exactly tell the mother that John tole his cigarettes while he was smoking in the nursery.

“You have to come out sooner or later,” Sherlock growled through the door.

John didn’t reply, but Sherlock could hear rustling noises. _Shit! The bathroom!_ Sherlock pounded more fervently on the door.

“John! John! I know what you’re planning! Don’t you dare—“

_FLUSH_

 

“You little _brat!_ ”

 

_FLUSH_

“Okay, okay, stop it!”

 

_FLUSH_

 

“Dammit, John!”

 

            Sherlock’s pounding faded and once he’d calmed into a silent rage, the bathroom door swung open slowly, revealing a smug looking John Watson with an empty cigarette packet.  He handed the packet to Sherlock with a smirk.

            “Smokin’s bad for yah, y’know.” 


End file.
